


Glitter Trees

by TreizeLoves



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Stucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TreizeLoves/pseuds/TreizeLoves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a little ficlet I wrote for tumblr because I was very very sad. There is guitar playing and a kiss and that is pretty much it but it is stucky so aw</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitter Trees

Steve and Bucky are wandering around Avengers Tower. Bucky doesn’t talk, he hasn’t since they found him. S.H.I.E.L.D. says he should have his memories back but he hasn’t spoken a word to support this idea.

Steve loves him anyway, he takes his hand and wanders the seemingly endless floors.   
“There’s just so much here. Remember when we used to sneak on to the roof of my apartment building? We were, something crazy, like ten, I don’t know, and we used to talk about what it must be like to have a thousand dollars? We used to say we’d break our arms for a thousand dollars and use it to buy airplanes and candy and--and a house like this?” Steve giggles like a ten year old.  
Bucky doesn’t answer, but he is smiling.  
And like I said, Steve doesn’t mind. He talks when he wants and he sits comfortably in the silences.  
He’s got too much energy today though, like he just can’t get over how happy he is that Bucky’s alive. And he drags Bucky to random floors, through the kitchens and the storage and the floor with all the cars till he gets in the elevator and says “Jarvis, I think I need a floor to help me unwind.”

And the elevator whirrs and glides down which sometimes makes Bucky nervous [Steve doesn’t mind, Steve doesn’t mind at all, he holds Bucky close] until the doors open again. The sliding elevator doors reveal a wide, white room, one wall just a window overlooking New York City, everywhere else there are perfect, beautiful, gorgeous instruments on stands and shelves, all of them covered in dust.  
Steve lets Bucky go and strides forward. “Whoa,”  
Bucky follows, looking at each one with an almost confused face, before uttering “I can play that.”  
Steve turns, blinking at Bucky’s voice.  
Bucky lifts a hand and points at the grand piano in the middle of the room, and then a violin on the wall. “And that.”  
Steve stammers and laughs, overcome with joy that he’s talking but afraid he’ll scare away his voice by talking back. “Y-you can what--”  
“And that.” Bucky points towards a guitar on a stand by the window.  
Steve narrows his eyes, not sure if this is a joke or just confusion.  
Bucky goes to the guitar and lifts it to his face, blowing the dust off it before sitting with his back to the window and adjusting the guitar in his lap.  
“It has to be like this, I can’t hold the strings down with this--this h-h…” He struggles before shaking his head and just sort of gesturing at his metal hand, seeming like he’s upset himself by thinking about it.  
And then, without warning, he starts playing, beautifully. He mumbles an apology, saying it’s too loud because he’s strumming with metal fingers but Steve is just standing there staring, trying to somehow instantly communicate that he doesn’t care how loud it is, that he’s so happy.  
But it only gets better. Bucky starts singing, so softly, in Russian, eyes watching his flesh hand slide up and down the fretboard.  
Steve can’t even imagine the awestruck look he must be wearing, watching Bucky sing and play, sunlight glowing around the borders of Bucky’s body like he’s some kind of unkempt angel.  
Bucky stops suddenly, looking straight up at Steve. “You’re supposed to dance at this part.”  
“What?” Steve blushes and laughs in disbelief.  
“You dance, you do this little--”  
“How do you even know this? What are you even singing?” Steve steps closer, till he stands right in front of Bucky.  
“Tests, tests.” Bucky sort of taps his temple before starting to strum again very softly. “They would sometimes just use things, songs, dances, they had to test putting complicated tasks inside, or artificial memories, I remember this whole party, I know I didn’t go to it, but I remember it, Alina she sang this song while Dima was playing guitar and he looked at her like she was a tree all lit up on Christmas and she looked back and she started dancing when she sang this part, when she sang--” Bucky mumbles a couple words in Russian before starting to sing again softly.  
Steve slowly sits, right in front of him, watching him play, listening intently while Bucky eyes his fingers on the guitar, playing every note precisely perfect while simultaneously seeming entirely unsure about every bit.  
It’s not until after a full verse and another chorus that Bucky glances up and sees Steve staring and stops playing, staring back.  
And Bucky is silent, he doesn’t say a word, but he leans forward, over the guitar and he presses his lips to Steve’s, because Steve is looking at him like he’s a Christmas tree, all lit up on Christmas morning.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for wasting a tiny moment of your time on this i love you dear reader


End file.
